Screw Up
by JunoLuv
Summary: One Shot. Sam is pretty messed up. After awaking at the Shay's with no knowledge of ever walking there, she seriously needs a shoulder to cry on. Or just to cry. Sam-centric. Extreme undertones of Cam. Implied self-harm?


**Screw Up**

My throat is dry. It's like I've got sandpaper walls in my neck, causing my breathing to sound strained and rash. It scares me, because I don't know where I am. There is no pain, no agony, only… nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. I passed my hands over the surface in which I must have been laying on, noting its' softness and warmth.

A _Bed_?

Yes, most definitely a bed. I'm laying on a bed. But my bed? No way, this can't be mine. My bed wasn't soft or warm at all. It was cold and lumpy and it hurt when I laid on it, both physically and emotionally. But this bed… this bed is forcing me to feel again. My nose is right above its soft blankets and sheets, and I inhale the aroma deeply, a smile curling my previously thin lips.

It smells like Gain fabric softener, mixed with fruity perfume, and maybe even a little beef jerky. _My jerky_, I remind myself. But there is still no way I'm at home. I don't eat beef jerky at home. At home, I don't eat **anything**… because she doesn't let me.

"W-_where_…"

It was all I could say before I began to struggle with the words on the tip of my dry tongue. I need a glass of water, or maybe even a root beer. Maybe then the words will come easier then, or at least be a little less painful.

I moaned, rolling over on my back as I allowed my eyes to flutter open, revealing the brightness of my best friend's bedroom. The room that always brought me happiness, but now I all I could feel was utter confusion.

I don't remember coming here.

I don't remember riding the bus here from my empty shell of a house, climbing the stairs to this very apartment, and picking the lock to allow myself entrance without disturbing the inhabitants of my own personal safe haven. It doesn't make sense for me to be here. Nothing makes sense.

"Sam?"

My head pops up at the pained sound of my name being whispered, no matter how inaudible it was. The voice is so soft and sad, but it still holds the inner meaning it would always hold for me: stability.

She's fiddling with the strap of her sky blue tank top nervously, not daring to look up at me from the foot of her bed. Her legs are crossed beneath her small frame, and I can see she's still in her pajamas. I notice that the deep brown of her eyes seems faded as she chances one short glance behind my head, before ducking her head down again and focusing on her twiddling thumbs.

"C-Carls?"

I force it out, feeling the strain of using my voice again deep inside my lungs as I slowly sit up on the bed to face her.

Her hands drop into her lap as soon as the words leave my lips, and finally, she gives me the satisfaction of her graying eyes. They bore into me, holding questions and uncertainty that I don't quite understand.

"Thirsty?"

She says finally, tearing her gaze from mine. It was a gesture that felt like a knifeless stab at my heart, leaving behind a deep, incurable wound.

I licked my dry and cracked lips, nodding silently while she looked on at me sadly with those enormous eyes I envied. The eyes that had tricked me into doing homework and being nice to Freddie so many times over, but caused chills to run down my spine now.

"I'll be back in a minute, don't get too jinky while I'm gone."

She mumbles it quickly, darting from the room while I stare after her in bewilderment.

Jinky… she'd started saying that word a few weeks ago after a long Scooby Doo marathon the two of us held that lasted almost two whole days. I remember laughing at her the first time she said it during normal conversation, saying that we should watch movies with cursing in them so that maybe those words would rub off on her too. She laughed with me, but turned down my offer quickly.

That was my Carly Shay, I had told her with a smile.

It didn't annoy me at all when she did things like that, or at how perfect she inevitably was at the end of any situation we got into. I understood that we came from two completely different worlds, although they were similar in their own ways. Ways that neither of us ever discussed, unless we needed to of course.

"Sam?"

Her voice is the exact same as it was the first time she said my name, only this time it sounds more wary and cautious. I don't understand why, but I take note of it immediately.

I look up silently, and she's holding a bottle of water in her outstretched hand. It's cold; I can see the perspiration forming on the outside of the plastic container. I swipe at her hand, taking it from her in one foul swoop. She sighs, shaking her head and looking at the floor.

As soon as I rip the cap off the top, I chug the water down like no tomorrow. She looks up and smirks at this, but after I shoot her a glare, her expression becomes placid.

"You're mad," She denotes, taking the now empty bottle from my shaking hand.

I shook my head quietly, looking up into her pain-filled eyes helplessly in search of answers.

"What then?"

She situates herself at the foot of the bed identical to how she'd sat before leaving me in search of water, except now she's leaning forward with her hands laying on the bed in front of her. It was almost like she was showing that she felt defeated, or some other kind of underlying reason I couldn't understand.

I swallow the building lump in my throat, looking up as I begin to shake my head.

"I… _don't _know."

Her eyes follow mine as I dart my gaze around the room, completely horrified at what I'm seeing. There were books and stuffed animals littering the floor, along with torn posters and large pieces of furniture. When I allow my eyes to meet hers again, the guilt returns to her expression.

"I shouldn't have asked you about it last night, I'm **sorry**."

Her voice is so small, it almost felt like I was talking to a small child rather than my more than capable, sixteen year old best friend. My heart is tearing again, this time the pain is deeper and harder to contain.

I grit my teeth, placing a hand over my chest as the pressure builds, "_It_?"

She shakes her head, scratching her forehead helplessly, "You don't remember?"

"No."

Her gaze falters again, and I can see that she's shaking her head in disbelief now, barely looking up anymore. Part of me desperately wants to climb under the covers of her bed, and just forget about this entire conversation… whatever this conversation was, if it was even a true conversation.

"Last night?"

I just want to leave now, I need to leave. She's looking at me with pitiful eyes, and the way she's scanning my body is almost off-putting. It hurts. I don't want her to look at me anymore, I don't deserve it.

"No."

It's a repeated phrase, but it sounds so different from the way my previous answer fell off my tongue. I'm so much weaker this time, so much more vulnerable.

She shakes her head, scooting closer to me as she reaches out for my hand. It looks so tan and colored sitting in her pasty white one, but it fits in hers perfectly, like the piece of a puzzle. At first, it doesn't look like it will fit, but after turning and flipping it a few times, it will eventually work. It always works.

Why can't life be more like a puzzle?

"That doesn't surprise me."

She sounds almost disappointed, and I need her to let me go so I can leave. The way she is fiddling with my fingers in her grasp is making me feel uncomfortable, and I never feel like that around her. I can't be this way around her, it's not right. It almost feels illegal.

"What happened, Carls?"

Tacking her pet name to the end of my question seemed to relax her a little, but it did little to calm my nerves. I was still completely lost and out of touch with whatever reality there was beyond the secrets that plagued my mind currently.

She didn't look like she wanted to talk anymore, but being the person she was, couldn't keep her mouth shut once she finally opened it. The words rained down on me quickly, but it didn't help with their everlasting sting.

"You ran all the way here last night, and you were hurt. Not just physically hurt, but you weren't _you_. I let you come up here to change out of your wet clothes, and when I came to check on you, I found this…"

She nodded to the mess, and with that simple motion, guilt washed over me quicker than the water from a hot shower would have. Her expression turned much darker as she opened her mouth again, this time her voice more serious and unstable.

"I saw things, Sam. **On you**."

My heart stopped and the color drained from my face entirely. She couldn't have seen them, no, it was impossible. I'd been so careful. I'd hidden them for almost a year, and now she was going to find out? I'm such a failure. Ever since the beginning, I forced myself to keep it a secret, to keep it from her. If she knew, it would change things. It would offset the small amount of balance I'd found throughout the past few months, and everything would be different.

_We_ would be different.

"No."

"Sam—"

"No."

I keep saying that word. If I hadn't felt so messed up, I'd probably laugh at myself. Carly would too, asking me if that was the only word I knew. But there was no laughter, and there wouldn't be for a long time, if ever again. It was all because of me.

Mom's right, I do destroy **everything**.

"How long?"

Her voice is back to its' scared little self again, replacing what once sounded kind of strong. The loss of self-esteem and courage is almost too much for me to tolerate without a fight. But she asked me a question, I remind myself, I need to answer it before I fly off the handle at her for no reason at all.

"A while."

Simple question, simple answer, right? That's how it's supposed to be done, isn't it?

"That's n-not an answer…"

There it was: the inevitable crack in her voice that would undoubtedly rip me to shreds until I was nothing. As if I was actually something to begin with.

"A year."

I mumble it quickly, darting my stare from hers, although I can still feel her gaze burning into my forehead. It hurts me in a way that is almost impossible to describe. She doesn't trust my answer, I'm guessing.

"One _year_?"

I nod silently, glaring up at her slowly and cautiously. She looks as if she's on the verge of tears, and I've never been much for dealing with that kind of pain. I'm more of a suffer in silence type anyways, which is what brought me to this point.

She grabs my wrist suddenly, forcing it over as she pulls the sleeve of my jacket up. At this point, I'm too flabbergasted to try and stop her like I normally would have. The embarrassment that lay just beneath that fabric would push me over the edge, I was sure of it. Her eyes widen, as if she hadn't seen them yet, but then the familiarity washes what was once shock out of her expression.

"It's nothing…"

It's all I can say at this point, although I know it doesn't do any good. She's still tracing her finger tips over my slowly whitening arms, cringing each time she runs over a bump or embellished straight line.

"It's something."

Her hand is on my cheek now, forcing my gaze to lock with hers once again. I sigh, shaking my head as she pulls my sleeve back over what I sometimes referred to as my personal cemetery. I didn't want her to know for a reason, she has to understand that. She can't leave me. Please don't leave me, Carly…

"I'm… **sorry**."

The tears that had been building in her eyes over the past few moments finally burst through the flood gates and began to pour down her face. I didn't know what to do. I never cried, but she did… she _was _crying _now_.

I swallow hard, shaking my head softly as she drops her hand from my cheek in defeat. It wasn't like I wanted her to find out this way, I didn't want anyone to find out period. But she had, and I knew it was because she was my best friend. It had only been a matter of time before I slipped up and freaked out when my outlet finally stopped working, when I finally became too lost and too confused to do anything about it but scream.

"_Why_? Why d-did you…"

She breaks off into a short sob, turning her face from mine so I can't see her eyes anymore. The gesture hurts, and I continued to shake my head in order to deal with the build-up of salty liquid behind my own pupils.

I didn't know how to answer her question, because I still didn't understand the full extent of this 'disease' I'd contracted almost a year ago. This 'addiction' that had slowly been taking my life over, until it finally left with me nearly nothing, except for my Carly. And now that was about to be taken from me as well.

"It… it's not like I _wanted_ to do this…"

I know it's the wrong answer, but it's all that comes to my head as I stare at her reddening, tear-stained cheeks. She's crying because of me, and that rarely ever happens. When it did, I usually cried right along with her, but this time I couldn't… I wouldn't. I refused to look any weaker than I already did to her.

"You should have s-said something. I could have h-helped you, Sam… I could have…"

The sobs wrack her body this time, cutting her sentence off midway. I understand the gist of what she's trying to say: that I'm an idiot who really needs to learn to speak up a little more about everything. She knows that will never happen, but she wants it anyways.

Deep down, I think I want it too.

"I just… I _lost_ it, Carls. I couldn't handle everything anymore. I just kind of… died inside a little I think. I got tired of pretending for everyone, including myself. I thought if maybe I stopped pretending, for me, then maybe I would feel better."

She stops crying as I finish my short speech, looking up at me with watery eyes.

"Did you?"

The words are out of her mouth so quickly that it takes me a moment to process their meaning. Did it help? Did it make me feel better?

"For awhile, yeah, it did. But then it stopped helping me, and it became something that I just had to do whenever things got rough… I couldn't stop it… it's like a sneeze, and I need to do it because I can't hold it in forever… Mom makes it worse… _so much worse_…"

Her face lifts immediately at the sound of my mother's mention, and I quickly wish it was possible to go back in time, and keep myself from saying it, from talking about her with the one person that was her polar opposite.

"_Your_ mom?"

She sounds angry. I've never heard her take this tone with me, one of contempt and fury, but not directed towards me personally. In a way, it scares me.

"It's not what you think, honest."

I try to kill the suspicions swimming around in that picture-perfect head of hers, but I probably make it worse. With the way she's giving me that sideways glance, I'm almost certain I've made everything worse.

"She doesn't… **hit** you… does she?"

We're having what almost feels like normal conversation now, yet the subject matter is nothing close to normal. It stings when she automatically assumes that my mother being physically abusive is my problem, because it's not. Maybe five or six years ago it was, but not now.

"I've told you before, Carls. She stopped when I started hitting back."

I give her my trademark smirk, desperate to lighten the mood, if only for a moment. My attempt fails miserably, and she seems even more determined to get to the bottom of this.

"What does she do, Sam?"

I swallow that building lump in my throat again, holding my emotions intact for as long as I can. Carly's hand on top of mine stiffens, and I can sense her uncertainty within my being. It hurts when I feel everything flood over me, everything that was wrong with me. Everything that Mom has always told me.

"She…"

My breath gets caught in my throat, because I never let my description of her go beyond humor or simple laughs. It's never like this. Carly is never holding my hand, looking both angry and filled with concern. And I'm never on the verge of tears, with my bright blue eyes shining in the light from her bedroom in such a way that actually made me want to cry even more.

"Sam…"

Her grasp on my hand is gone suddenly. I look up just in time to see her lunging at me, catching me in her tight embrace as I feel my body jerk and my breaths turn strained and panicked.

I can't cry.

I _can't_ cry.

I _**can't**_ cry.

She's shushing me, running her hands through my hair as she whispers in my ear words I can't understand. They soothe me all the same, like a lullaby I'll never be given the satisfaction of hearing. She places her lips so close to my ear that each time she breathes, it sends chills throughout my body because of the close contact we shared currently.

"It's okay."

Her voice is a low mumble, but I understand it easily. I can feel her rubbing my back and I know I'm at the edge of that cliff now; the one that involves wet cheeks and broken promises at the bottom within its' icy waters.

"She… screams at m-me…"

A sob finally escapes my tightly sealed lips, and her embrace on my small frame tightens. The words in my ear sound faster and more comforting than ever. But I still need to say it, I need to let it out somewhere besides on my own body.

"It hurts… the things she s-says. She calls me n-names and they h-hurt, Carls. They hurt so much."

She lets out a long sigh, patting my back as another loud cry breaks through my shell and my carefully built walls.

"Momma **hates** me… she tells me all the time, but she loves Melanie. She'll always love Melanie, but I'll always be her s-screw-up. Even when M-Melanie would mess up, and Mom would s-scream at her, she apologized to her. M-mom **never** apologized to _me_… **ever**."

"Sam—"

"S-sometimes… she'll be so mad at me for being such a s-screw-up… she throws things at me. Her aim is g-great, Carly."

My cries are getting louder and louder, until finally I let out a pained scream of pure heartache. The arms around me loosen slightly, and I can feel her crying now too. We're both crying in each others' arms, and we probably look like two of the biggest hot messes on the planet, but none of it matters. None of it matters, because she's still here.

She didn't leave me.

"You're not just a screw-up, Sam."

Her voice is so stern and powerful, that I'm forced to listen to her intently. I almost think she's going to insult me, just like mom does all too often. But then I remember that I'm not at home. I'm with her, my Carly, and I automatically know that her words won't hurt me, if anything they might even make me laugh. I shut my eyes, allowing her words to fall down on me happily, smiling contently as soon as they left her lips…

"You're _my_ screw-up."

* * *

**Another random and totally angsty one-shot from yours truly that came from absolutely nowhere but the deep, dark, depths of my crazed mind. Written (shocker) really really late at night. Why do all my one-shots happen then? It's weird, and I'd like to be able to write something when I'm awake enough to revise it for once...  
**

**Anyways, I kind of love this, but then I kind of hate it. If I was more awake, I'd have probably done a better job, but whatever. If I wait until tomorrow to post it, it'll never happen because I'll find a mountainous amount of problems in it, and I'll end up hating it more than I do right now. The plot is pretty skewed and... I don't know. There is stuff wrong with it. Lol. It was going to be a little longer, but I thought that this was long enough as is, and that any more would just drag the story out. I don't want to do that. Besides, it ended _kinda _cute. Lol.  
**

**By the way, this is my first attempt at Cam (Carly/Sam). Even if it's mostly friendship throughout the entire thing, I tried to drop a couple hints in there at random, because I secretly love Cam a little more than Seddie. ;)**

**Review? Maybe? Pleez? :D**

**Not beggin', just askin'!**


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